


three strikes, you're out

by themidsummersoldier



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Happily Ever After AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3429578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themidsummersoldier/pseuds/themidsummersoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>/// "Rainbow Road sucks” \\\\ in which mario kart is played, zumba is banned, hunter can't spell his name, and coulson is royally offended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	three strikes, you're out

**Author's Note:**

> originally published on tumblr 12-17-14. based on an anon prompt about coulson being offended by the casual use of the word murder. takes place in a make believe happily ever after au. why? because I can.

 

-

_**Strike One** _

Four men on a couch meant for three was never a good idea. _Especially_ if two of those men were locked in an intense Mario Kart battle.Fitz had chosen Rainbow Road just to spite Mack, because when they had run out of room on the couch, Mack had banished Ward to the back. Like, literally. Grant was sprawled half on and half off of the small denim couch that occupied a corner of the bunker’s rec room. Trip, meanwhile, sat contentedly in between the two racers, as the designated popcorn bowl holder.

"Rainbow Road _sucks_ ,” Ward muttered, his face smashed between two couch cushions, “Wake me up when it’s over.”

Trip sighed and nodded in agreement, crossing his arms behind his head and muttering something under his breath. Ward made fake snoring noises. Fitz simply leaned closer to the tv, as if that might give him an advantage.

"Might as well give up now, Turbo," Mack rumbled, his neck straining forward and his eyes fixated on the colorful tv screen, "I’m about to _murder_ you.”

And then.

Dead.

_Silence._

Mack turned to see that Fitz’s mouth had dropped open, Trip was looking around the room, visually scanning for… _something_ , and Ward had nearly fallen off the back of the couch.

"Y- You can’t say that," Fitz whispered in a rush, "Not here."

"I- I’m sorry," Mack began, "I was joking, I didn’t-"

"I know, but, you can’t joke about that here, ok?"

"…ok?"

_**Strike Two** _

Elsewhere, four ladies rested in various positions around the bunker’s workout area.

"We are _never_ doing that again,” Bobbi said with a laugh, as May passed around water bottles. Side note- If Shield was supposed to be a secret underground kind of thing right now, why did they still use custom made water bottles with their logo on it? Apparently funding wasn’t as bad as Director Coulson led them to believe.

"Come on, it was a great idea," Skye argued, as she popped a dvd out of the tv on the wall, "We needed a change anyway."

"I thought it was quite thrilling," Jemma threw in from where she was sprawled out on the floor, unable to move after such an intense workout.

"New rule," Melinda announced, as she twisted the cap off of her water, "All of Skye’s workout ideas need to go to a vote before we even consider putting them on the schedule."

Bobbi snickered.

"Guys, really?" Skye put her hands on her hips, "Zumba is _perfect_.”

The look May gave her trainee was even more terrifying than watching May do Zumba. That woman could make any kind of dance look threatening.

"May, come on, it wasn’t so bad," Bobbi relented, after seeing the disappointed look on Skye’s face, "And you absolutely _murdered_ it.”

…

_Silence._

Never in her life had Bobbi heard a room get that quiet, that quick.

"Bobbi, don’t-" Skye warned.

"You can’t do that!" gasped Jemma, attempting to peel herself off of the floor, "What if-"

"Morse," Melinda’s stern voice cut off Skye’s and Simmon’s panicked ones, "Don’t joke about that."

"I’m sorry, I just-"

“ _Don’t.”_

_**Strike Three** _

At some point after the above incidents, there came a time when ten people crowded into the bunker’s rec room to play Ultimate Scrabble- which consisted of nine Scrabble boards lined up in three rows of three, and a large shoebox filled to the brim with letter tiles. Snacks, drinks and even a shirt or two were scattered around the room, as the epic battle moved into its third hour.

"Check, Mate," Lance said gleefully, spelling out, yet another, seven letter word, "You know, you guys really should have let me in on this tradition sooner."

As Melinda added his points up, he pulled seven new letters out of the shoebox, letting everyone know by his small cry of delight that he had gotten some good ones.

“ _Seriously_ , Hunter?” complained Bobbi, as she managed to put out a meager three letter word, “You couldn’t even spell your own _name_ right when we sent Christmas cards to my family-“

"Oh so you’re bringing _that_ up again?” Lance questioned, rolling his eyes.

"Do you remember what my mom said-"

"Your mother says a lot of things-"

"You signed your name as Lance _Hubert_!”

"That- That was one time!" Lance spluttered, "And you _know_ I had a cold then and I wasn’t-“

"No excuses!"

"I’m not _making_ excuses!”

"Ok, then you’re _admitting_ you can’t spell your own name! So how do you suddenly become a- _a Scrabble expert?_ " Bobbi demanded.

Lance went silent for half a minute.

The other agents in the room welcomed the break in the argument, as it meant their necks could rest from the Ping Pong like back-and-forth movements they had been making.

Finally, Lance settled back into his chair, crossed his arms, and grinned. “You’re just upset because I am _murdering_ you at this.”

The poor soul seemed proud of himself for a moment before he realized-

…

You guessed it.

Dead.

_Silence._

As eight agents looked at each other in awe, Coulson jumped to his feet and began staring down Hunter. Apparently, mind control was a GH325 side effect, as Lance found his body rising off the couch without his consent. Suddenly, the agent and the director were eye to eye, and Coulson stepped even closer, so close that Lance could smell the Goldfish crackers on his breath.

“ _Don’t._ " As Coulson literally spit the word into the British man’s face, Lance fought the urge to wipe his cheek off.

“ _Don’t,_ " he continued, "joke about _murder._ ”

The director turned away from Lance and gazed off into the distance, the nearby window casting a beam of light on his face. After a dramatic pause, Phil whispered-

"I was murdered once, and it offends me."

 _end_.


End file.
